


Pleasant Flames

by WednesdayTheWriter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Being an Idiot (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Being an Idiot (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crying, Everyone Gets A Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Hugs, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Other, They’re both hurt tbh, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Writing, mostly comfort, they’re both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29968497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayTheWriter/pseuds/WednesdayTheWriter
Summary: Crowley gets so bored he decides to take up writing. He writes a book about the adventures of Ez and J (who are, obviously, Aziraphale and Crowley.) The only noticeable difference in Ez’s character, Crowley thinks, is that he loves J back.He brings his book to Aziraphale, not mentioning that he was the one who wrote it.Fluff and comfort ensues.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	Pleasant Flames

**Author's Note:**

> T for language!! There isn’t much cursing but there’s a singular F-bomb. 
> 
> Also this may or may not be the fluffiest, sappiest thing I’ve ever written.
> 
> You have been warned.

Crowley was bored.

It was such a human emotion, nagging at the back of his brain. 

But he was bored, and there was nothing he could do. 

Well, there was one thing.

“You should take up writing!” Aziraphale had said so long ago. It had been years since he’d even suggested the idea, as Crowley had always come up with an excuse not to. 

But now, as he stared at the computer in front of him, he realized he didn’t have anything better to do.

So, he reached out and began to write.

It was strange at first, putting his feelings on paper. _Well, not paper,_ he thought, looking at the machine in front of him. _But still._

He didn’t write about himself, per say, but the character he’d adopted as his “protagonist” was really a lot like him. He was human, of course, but he shared many of the traits Crowley had- which included his style, his language, and of course, falling head over heels for his best friend. 

The best friend in question was much like Aziraphale as a human. He loved sushi, and books, and tartan, and… Crowley startled as he realized how much he knew about the angel’s favorite things. He knew him so well, and yet it felt like everything was still shrouded in mystery.

However, there was one notable difference, in Aziraphale’s character, at least to Crowley. _In this story,_ thought Crowley, _Aziraphale loves me back. And more than just the angelic love he’s supposed to have in reality. He actually loves me._

He changed the names, and the faces, although he kept his own red hair and Aziraphale’s blond curls. 

And he wrote. For days on end, he would sit at the computer, simply writing. It felt like pouring his soul out, but in a good way. He was confused by this, as he’d have thought that writing would be boring and that pouring out one’s soul would be painful, but he continued despite his confusion. 

Within a few weeks, he had a whole book. Humans, generally speaking, could not produce a book this fast, but because Crowley did not need sleep or food, he could do things on a much faster level. He’d managed to print out the pages and used his not-so-demonic powers to change them into a book format, with a cover and everything. The title was the hardest part. He sat for a whole day trying to come up with a title. Words swam around in his brain, but he couldn’t settle on just a few. Finally, he decided on something. He wasn’t sure if it had been used before, or if it was any good, but he used it anyway because it was the only thing he could think of.

A few days later, he was knocking on the door to Aziraphale’s bookshop. He wasn’t sure why he wanted Aziraphale to read it, he just did. He considered it a sort of test. Maybe if Aziraphale enjoyed it, he’d take up writing more often.

“Come in!” called a voice from inside the bookshop. 

Crowley opened the door to see the angel sitting on a couch, reading something as always. 

“What’s that?” asked Aziraphale, looking at Crowley as he held the book.

“Er… a friend wanted me to look over this. They wrote it a while back, see, but I’m not much of a reader, so…” 

“Oh! I’d be glad to take it off your hands, then.” Aziraphale hurried over and took the book from Crowley, smiling.

“Alright. Thanks, Angel.” And with that, Crowley left the bookshop.  
#

Aziraphale opened the book Crowley had given him. What a strange title, he thought. It wasn’t bad, it was just an interesting title, one he’d never seen before. Perhaps Crowley’s friend hadn’t published the book yet, and that was why Aziraphale hadn’t seen it before. Yes, that must be it. 

As he began to read, he was drawn into the story more and more. It was centered around a red-headed gardener who had a rather strange way of taking care of his plants. He yelled at them a lot, and Aziraphale realized throughout the course of the story that this was because the gardener was hurting, and needed to take out his pain on something. 

The gardener’s name was J. Just J. Not Jay, or Jae, just J. 

The next character was named Ez. _These are strange names,_ thought Aziraphale briefly before he continued reading, invested in the story. Ez worked in a cafe, and he loved books and cake and “light academia,” which after a bit of searching Aziraphale realized was what humans called an “aesthetic.” 

J was in love with Ez.

Ez was in love with J.

And they went on adventures together, somehow never managing to tell each other how they felt. 

At the very end of the book, Ez finally cracked and told J he loved him. J, after a lot of struggling to find his words, told Ez he loved him too. 

And Aziraphale, looking up from the book he’d just finished, realized that he was crying.  
#

A day passed. Crowley headed back over to the bookshop, nervousness nagging at him with every step he took. _Aziraphale’s got to be done with the book now,_ he thought. He hoped that Aziraphale didn’t figure out that he was the one who’d written it, but at the same time, a part of him wanted him to know. Maybe then, everything would somehow make more sense.

He knocked on the door and heard a hoarse voice tell him to come in. That’s strange, he thought, was Aziraphale… crying? He got his answer as soon as he opened the door to find the angel holding the book to his chest, tears running down his face. Crowley felt panic rise in his chest as he rushed over.

“You alright?” asked Crowley, trying to hide the worry in his voice. He sat down on the couch next to Aziraphale, and suddenly he was overwhelmed with the urge to wrap him up in a huge hug.

“H...hm?” Aziraphale looked up, as though he’d forgotten he’d told Crowley to come in. “Yes, I’m alright.” 

“You’re crying,” Crowley observed. 

“Yes.”

They sat there awkwardly for a moment before Aziraphale spoke again. “I liked it. The book. Was good.” 

“Ah.” Crowley felt a weight lift off of his chest as Aziraphale didn’t ask him if he was the one who’d written it. But he felt a new emotion take its place- shock. “Wait, you liked it?”

“Yes. It was very, very good. I just wish…” Aziraphale trailed off.

“You wish what?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Can I meet the author sometime?” 

Crowley’s stomach gave a jolt. “Um.”

“It’s alright if I can’t, it’s just… It was a really good book, and I’d like to congratulate them.” He looked down at the book, smiling slightly through his tears. “I’m not sure I quite understand the title, though.”

“Oh, what was it again?” asked Crowley. He already knew, of course, but he wanted to make it as obvious as possible to Aziraphale that he had nothing to do with the book.

“It’s called… it’s called ‘Pleasant Flames.’”

“Ah. Right. Er… I’m sure it was just random. Might’ve not meant anything.”

“Mm.” 

They sat there for another moment, both lost in their own thoughts yet again. 

“Can I meet the author, though? I’d love to tell them how well-written it was. It, er…” he looked away, as if he was searching for words he’d forgotten. “Hit close to home.”

“O...oh?” 

“Just reminded me of… things.”

“Mhm,” said Crowley. He hadn’t thought about the fact that Aziraphale would actually ask to meet the author. That… posed a bit of a dilemma.

And suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks that he couldn’t lie about the author forever. This whole thing was a terrible idea. Aziraphale was going to find out at some point. Despite his occasional oblivious moments, Aziraphale was quite intelligent and was sure to figure it out. Crowley’s hands shook slightly as he tried to arrange his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

“What’s wrong?” asked Aziraphale. Then his face fell. “Oh, the author’s not… the authors not gone, are they?” His voice was hushed and nervous as he looked at Crowley, who abruptly stood up, then sat back down. 

“No.” 

“Ah. Good. So…”

“They aren’t dead, if that’s what you mean. It’s just…” 

“It’s just what?” 

“...Svjdslf,” said Crowley. 

“Sorry?”

“Gh… sorry. Having trouble with… the words. Er… the author, um… when I said a friend wrote it…”

“Yes?” 

“I, er… I lied.” Crowley stood up again and began pacing back and forth nervously.

“Did your enemy write it? I’m afraid I’m quite confused, dear boy.”

“No. I, uh... I wrote it.” 

The room was dead silent for at least a minute, the clock ticking on the wall. Crowley had to check several times that he hadn’t accidentally stopped time. Aziraphale stared at Crowley in shock, frozen in place.

“Sorry,” said Crowley. He spun around and began half-walking, half-running towards the door, but Aziraphale reached a hand out. 

“Wait, Crowley…” 

The pain in Aziraphale’s voice was enough to make Crowley turn around, his eyes wide with fear. 

“Who’s the… who’s the book about?” Aziraphale asked, his voice quiet and nervous. Crowley didn’t say anything at first, but he had nothing to lose anymore, and the angel was probably angry at him already. 

“Us.” He turned around again and tried to open the door, but he startled as he realized it was locked. Aziraphale had locked the door. 

“Come back,” said Aziraphale. He sounded… desperate. Crowley slowly, stiffly turned around and walked back towards the couch. He stood in front of Aziraphale expectantly. 

“What?” It came out much more angry than he’d intended, and Aziraphale flinched. The feeling was back. He wanted so badly to scoop Aziraphale up in his arms and hold him and tell him everything and cry and-

“Was I… Ez?” Aziraphale’s voice was cracking, and he was clearly on the edge of more tears. 

“...Yeah. I was J.” 

“...Why?”

The word sent pain jolting through Crowley’s stomach. It stung his whole body, sending jolts of pain throughout it and eventually making its way through his throat and out of his mouth. 

“BECAUSE IT ISN’T FAIR FOR YOU TO LOVE ME IN REAL LIFE!” 

Aziraphale flinched as Crowley yelled, a tear making its way out of his eyes. Crowley inhaled shakily. He didn’t mean to yell. 

“I’m sorry.” He turned around and attempted to leave for a third time, but Aziraphale stood up and grabbed his arm. 

“No. Stay.” 

“...What?” 

“Stay.” Aziraphale said it firmly, but his voice was shaking. 

“You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?” Crowley asked. Then he cursed his voice for betraying him, for sounding so stupidly vulnerable.

“No. I want you… I want you to tell me everything.” 

Crowley felt tears begin to prick the back of his eyes, too. He wanted to say no. He also wanted to say yes.

“...Okay.” 

Crowley sat down on the couch next to Aziraphale, trying to look anywhere but the angel.

“You… you love me?” Aziraphale’s voice came out a whisper as he asked the question. 

“...I do.” 

“How long?” 

“I d… I dunno. Eden, prolly.” Crowley hastily wiped his eyes to keep the tears from dripping out. 

“Why didn’t you say something…?” 

“You don’t love me back. Not… not any more than angels are supposed to love demons, which isn’t a lot.”

“Dear boy,” said Aziraphale angrily through his tears. “With all due respect, how the everlasting FUCK would you know that?” 

“Gh-?” Crowley stared at Aziraphale, ignoring the tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes.

“Come here.” 

It wasn’t a question, it was a command. Crowley looked at Aziraphale with confusion as he opened his arms. 

“...Geh?” 

“You do… know what a hug is, yes?” 

“Yes, Angel, I know what a hug is.” 

“Then come here.” 

Crowley slowly scooted over towards Aziraphale, and the angel, his angel, wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly against his chest. Crowley startled as he realized tears had begun to drip out of his eyes, landing on Aziraphale’s coat. Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley’s hair, and Crowley felt large, wet tears dripping onto his head.

“I’m sorry,” said Aziraphale. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“F’r what?” asked Crowley hoarsely.

“For not telling you sooner.” 

“Telling m’ wha?” Crowley asked, his words not quite wording correctly.

“That I love you. I love you so, so much. More than all the stars in the sky and more than books and more than sushi and more than everything.”

“Angel…” Crowley wasn’t sure how he meant to say the word, but the way it came out of his mouth was not how he’d intended for it to. It wasn’t angry or frustrated. It was a _whimper._ “I love you,” he said. He wanted to go on talking about how much he loved Aziraphale. Normally he could rattle off hundreds of reasons why he was in love with him, for hours on end if he had to. But he couldn’t speak anymore. 

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid I’ve been a bit of a coward,” said Aziraphale. “I didn’t tell you for so long, and…”

“We’re both cowards, then,” said Crowley, smiling slightly as he nestled further into Aziraphale’s coat. “We can be cowards together.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale smiled through his tears, his face still buried in Crowley’s hair. They sat like that for a while, just silently crying and holding each other in the dying daylight shining through the windows.

Finally, Aziraphale gave Crowley a squeeze, and Crowley squeezed back.

“You’re a good writer, you know,” said Aziraphale.

“Ngk-” Crowley’s ears turned slightly pink. “Thanks…”

“You really should write more often,” said Aziraphale.

“Yeah, maybe I will. ‘S an okay way to pass the time, I guess.” 

Aziraphale nodded, holding Crowley slightly tighter against him. “I really liked the part where J says, ‘I wouldn’t trade you for the world, because you are my world.’”

“Mhm,” said Crowley quietly. “You’re my world, Angel.” 

“You’re mine, too,” said Aziraphale. Crowley looked up at him with those big, yellow eyes that always tugged at Aziraphale’s heart, and Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s cheeks in his hands. He leaned forward and softly kissed Crowley’s forehead, smiling. 

There were a lot of things Crowley wanted to say in that moment. One of them was “I love you.” One of them was “Don’t ever leave me.” One of them was “I’m sorry for everything.” But all he could manage was “Svkdhssdfssss.” The last part came out like a hiss, and Aziraphale laughed slightly as he remembered that sometimes when Crowley got emotional, he’d revert back to his snake-like nature more than usual. 

“It’s alright. You don’t have to say anything,” said Aziraphale, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair. 

“Gnh… want… want to say… words...” said Crowley.

“I know you do,” said Aziraphale. “I do too. But it’s alright. We have time to say everything now.”

“Mm.” Crowley nodded, leaning his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“For now, I hope ‘I love you’ will suffice,” said Aziraphale. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Angel.” 

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, smiling. Crowley smiled back at him, and it wasn’t his usual half-smirk. He was really smiling. Then he laughed, a sound Aziraphale would treasure forever. Aziraphale beamed, resting his forehead against Crowley’s.  
Waves of love rolled off of the two of them, surrounding the bookshop and spreading throughout the town. Dead flowers bloomed. A man was cured of his cancer. A lost dog found its way home. 

And everywhere, there was so much love.


End file.
